The Fatherless Ones
by Live.Laugh.Love.Listen.Music
Summary: Perhaps the greatest evil of war is the orphans it leaves behind. Guinevere stands and thinks of Arthur, of Merlin, of Camelot and of her reason for living.


Perhaps the greatest evil of war is the orphans it leaves behind. The fatherless ones. Whether they be in the year of their majority, fully aware of what has killed their father; or children told that their daddy has had to go away for a while (_'but you'll see him again and he loves you very much'_); or – possibly the worst of all – the ones who are brought into the world after their fathers have left it. The ones who will never know the man their father was.

Queen Guinevere of Camelot stood in the shadow of one of Camelot's towers. She made an impressive image, standing completely straight, dressed in flowing red silk that ran from her shoulders to trail behind her. Not many could afford such a gown; the hems of dresses that swept the floor needed to be constantly repaired as the fabric gathered dirt and wore away. It was for this reason the girls of the working classes cut their dresses to their ankles, or added heels to their shoes.

Her curly brown hair – not without the occasional strands of grey now – was pulled back and flowed lose down her back, restrained by a complex web of braids that prevented any strands from drifting lose. A diadem rested on her forehead, her clasped hands rested against her abdomen.

She had changed. Gone was the shy, awkward girl she had been. Gone was the hopeful, blossoming woman she had been. Gone was the regent queen she had been. Now she was the ruling Queen, wise yet not patronising, confident yet not arrogant, strong yet not untouchable. Her people loved her.

He had changed too. She heard his soft footsteps approaching from behind her. No one in Camelot walked as he did. She did not have to look at him to know what she would see; his dark hair – like her, containing not too few greys, though his greys were there by choice, not age – tousled; his blue eyes; his blue shirt; his leather trousers. Merlin had changed as much as she had. Gone was the naive boy he once was, gone was the servant determined to place his master on his rightful throne, gone was the young sorcerer who had, in ten seconds, defeated an entire Saxon army yet had failed to keep his master alive. Merlin was a man now, a man burdened by the things he had seen and the things he had done. Of all the things Merlin had lost, his smile was the most missed. His true smile – his bright, unstoppable, cheerful grin, had left him the instant Arthur had.

Yet some things, some truly defining things, were ingrained so deeply into a soul that neither time nor hardship nor joy can remove them. However much had changed about the two servants-turned-courtiers, some things stayed the same. Her kindness; his modesty; his bravery; her compassion; his neckerchief. He was wearing the red one today.

"Eighteen years," Her court-sorcerer sighed suddenly, "Yet it could have happened in eighteen minutes."

She gave him a sidelong look. Another unchanged quality – his habit of making a statement and leaving it unexplained.

He elaborated. "Eighteen years ago to this very day, I walked through the gates of Camelot."

She smiled as she remembered the bright-eyed boy he had been back then. So trusting, so naive to the dangerous of the world, the evil in it, especially considering the secret he had been carrying, even back then. It was not bravery that took him through the gates of a city that could bring about his execution, but fate. He was too innocent to understand the danger, too trusting to understand why others with similar gifts did not dare to approach Camelot. That innocence was long gone now.

Fate was cruel. Fate had taken away the innocent boy and forced him to lie and cheat and kill and become Emrys. Fate had taken and turned and twisted her best friend into a madwoman. Fate had taken away her husband in his prime of life and made her rule alone.

And yet, fate had been kind in unexpected ways. That was the way of it, Merlin had told her. For everything fate had taken, fate had given in return. Balance, Merlin said.

Fate had taken the boy Merlin and returned the man Merlin: a wise councillor and a loyal friend. Fate had taken the companionship of Morgana and returned the Knights of the Round Table: trusted men and honourable soldiers. Fate had taken Arthur, the light of her light, and replaced him with -

"Mother!"

A smile spread over Guinevere's face; a wide, joyous smile only one person had the honour of prompting. Fate had taken her Arthur, and returned to her a new light: her son, Cerdic. The seven year old boy skidded to a halt in front of his mother with a look of absolute indignation on his little face. Before she could ask the matter, he swept into a wobbly bow and held out his hand to take Guinevere's and kiss it. Recently an ambassador from a far-distant southern country had visited Camelot. His ebony skin, flowing silk robes and beautiful mannerisms had fascinated Cerdic and he spent many hours trying to mimic them. Once discovering that he could not wish his skin darker (after hours of trying) and that Guinevere refused to let him ruin silk robes (the rate at which he went through the knees of his breaches!) meant that the little prince had become determined to pull off a flawless diplomatic greeting.

"My Lady Mother," he said solemnly, and then departed from his diplomatic mode to hug her. Once released, he launched himself at Merlin and gave the chuckling Warlock a squeeze.

"Merlin!" Cerdic squealed with laughter as Merlin picked him up and tossed him in the air, catching him safely every time. He pouted – looking extremely like Arthur – when Merlin finally stopped.

"Again, again!"

"Now Cerdic, what must you say when asking for something?" Guinevere coaxed.

"Again, _please_!"

"Well done, son," Guinevere said, as Merlin said "I don't think I could manage it! You're a big boy now Cerdic!"

The conflict on Cerdic's face was obvious. He loved playing with the court sorcerer, but he liked being called a big boy too! He pouted again, but straightened.

"Yes! I'm the Man of the house now!"Cerdic blinked in confusion as Merlin and his mother lost their courtly composure and burst out laughing. Adults, Cerdic decided, were very strange.

"What's so funny," he asked, suspiciously.

"You are, Little Lord Cerdic," Merlin replied, still smiling. While Cerdic tried to figure out what he'd done that was so funny, Merlin spoke to Guinevere.

"Arthur would be so proud," He murmured.

"He would," She replied softly. It had grown easier, as the years passed, to talk of Arthur. Time had dulled the pain, though it was still ever present in the both of them. Cerdic had helped a great deal in their grief. It was impossible to lose themselves in depression with a babe on the way. Guinevere had thrown herself into parenting and found happiness there. Merlin had done the same, becoming an Uncle to the young prince – uncle, never father, though Guinevere had suggested it. In the early days, before she had proven her worth as Ruling Queen, there had been pressure on her to marry a Camelot Lord. The kingdom needed a king, the council argued, not a widowed queen.

She had considered it, spent long days thinking on it. She did not want to remarry, nor lose the power Arthur had vested in her (she had no illusions that, once married, she would be pushed aside and told – courteously, of course – that the only place for her was in bearing children and not ruling the country). She would only consider marrying men who would not rule her, which only presented her with a few men to choose from: Merlin, her most trusted friend; Leon, her childhood playmate and adult champion; Percival, her strong and silent knight. Percival was not fit for ruling, only fighting. Leon was a perfect option, but already married. Merlin was... Merlin. The court sorcerer. There would have been uproar if he had accepted, though Guinevere knew he would never. Loyalty to Arthur prevented him, though he had nothing but platonic feelings for her.

Of course, once her pregnancy was discovered, all marriage plans were abandoned until after the birth. The council desired the child to be a son, one who they could raise and shape and replace her with. She hadn't cared for their wishes, of course. Her child, whatever gender, would be raised by her ideals and would take the throne upon her death, not before.

When Cerdic was born, the kingdom sighed in relief. An heir, a prince. Security. The council clapped their hands together and did what they did best: plotted. Guinevere and Merlin sat together in the royal chambers, emptied of midwives and maids, with the newborn and cried. Merlin cried when he saw the babe's blue eyes – just like Arthur's – and fully accepted that while his best friend was gone, part still remained. Guinevere cried when she realised that her beautiful babe would never meet his father, that it wasn't Arthur pressing a teary kiss to his forehead, that she would have to raise the child alone. Cerdic would never know his father, something even Merlin, with his many weird and wonderful gifts, could not rectify. It was, in her mind, the greatest evil.

**Greetings, Merlin Fandom! This is my first Merlin fanfiction, which shocked me slightly, as I adore Merlin. I'm not sure why I've never written something for the show before, but here's to rectifying that mistake!**

**I refer to Gwen as Guinevere throughout as I believe that, at this point, the old Gwen is almost gone. **

**I used the name Cerdic for several reasons. Firstly, Cerdic is a name of an actual king, from around the same time Merlin is supposed to be set. He was the first king of Wessex (and I visualise Camelot to be somewhere in what is now Wessex, as Mercia is meant to be north of Camelot, and Mercia is certainly north of Wessex). He was the first person to unite those lands under one kingship, which seemed to me like something Arthur's son would do. Cerdic is something like the 13****th**** Great Grandfather of Alfred the Great, who also united all the lands under one king and held off the Saxon armies – something a descendent of Arthur would do, I believe. So there's a history lesson for you! **

**My other reason for using Cerdic as a name was although Arthur has several recorded sons – Amr, Llacheu, Amhar, Loholt, Mordred (though obviously, this doesn't apply in the Merlin universe), Kydaun, Gwydre, Duran (God this man was busy!) – and daughters, not all of them are proven to exist at all, so I stuck with a man that definitely existed.**

**For anyone who follows some of my other fanfictions, most of them are on a temporary Hiatus until I finish my next lot of exams. **


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